One Stormy Night

Driving down the back roads on a stormy night, a man called Nick who was heading on a lonesome drive to clear his head when he started to have trouble with his car. In the distance he could see a light shining through the rain, it seemed as if it was coming from a house up the road so Nick decided to take it upon himself to go up and see if anyone in the house could help him. He dashed up covering his head with his jacket as if it was drops of fire falling from the sky, gently knocking to not panic the householder but there was no answer. It seemed to be the classic case of the lights are on but nobody's home until he tried one last time before leaving. As he was walking away he was met by a gentle voice softly asking "One moment dear". An older lady answered and rushes him into the house "Get in, Get in".

Once in the house she offers him hospitality until the storm passes to which Nick duly obliges. The house was more of an old cottage with a few extensions to modernize it up to today's housing pressures. As the night was going on the two struck up a good rapport with one another, laughing and sharing stories like the "good ol' days" , fire roaring and the noise of rain thundering off the roof and windows really set the scene. The lady suddenly asks Nick "have you ever killed someone?" Nick looked a bit bewildered by this but she then starts laughing saying it's only a joke and that she likes to mess with people.

Nick asks to use her phone to call a friend, she explains that you wont get signal in the storm but Nick tries anyway. As he dial's the number she looks at him directly in his eyes gaining his attention and whispers " I died before, I know it's strange to hear but since we are being honest tonight I thought you should know". Nick drops the phone and his face follows suit looking equally aghast at this revelation, "what do you mean you died before?". Before the old lady could answer another voice could be heard, it was an older man's voice seemingly coming from one of the renovated rooms asking " who is this man and why is he in this house". Nick responds by explaining about his car and that the old lady let him in, "there is no old lady living here" say's the man who's face still was hidden.

This night was starting to get strange, Nick apprehensively looks around and the old lady was no where to be seen, he searches the house for her but to no avail, she seemingly vanished. "The old lady you are talking about passed away a few years back" the old man mutters like he was talking to himself. Nick fervently looks for his car keys to exit the house only for the door to be locked, looking shaken ask's "What do you want? who are you?" Two loud thud's come from the back of the house, Nick's eyes start to dilute with fear awaiting to what he will be confronted with. "hahahahaahahh" the older man and lady appear from the back of the house in tears from laughter and explain to Nick that this is just a trick they play on stranded strangers on night's like these and apologize if it went to far. "I'm leaving right away" says nick angrily " i just want to go home it's been a long night i'm tired and didn't care for this prank".

The older couple asks Nick before he leaves " Do you believe in spirits? that the people we lose can still be around? It's what we do, we try to summon spirits of our loved one's with strangers who pass by, we lost close family member's a few months back but we always lacked a third person to perform the summoning ritual, can you please just try this with us, even to just give us closure?"
 Nick replies "Fine yeah. let's do this quickly and then i'm leaving. I know what it's like to lose people we love so let's just get it over with, not like I have plans on a night like this".

As they prepare the summoning; attached by their hand's in a circle around the sitting room table, a loud bang or crash is heard from outside. The old couple go check it out and see a car crashed up against a wall with smoke coming out of it, they rush to the scene to check if the person is OK. They slowly approach the banged up car, they notice a lifeless body lying in the driver's seat and ask " are you alright" but get no response, they ask Nick to try and phone for help but still the signal is down. "We gotta turn him over and see can wee help we have no other option" says the old man , they turn him over, his face caved in from the crash and blood all over it. "Nick ,Nick we need you out here" the couple call out but get nothing back, On the passenger's seat wedged down the side they see the wallet of the crash victim.

It read " Nick Jones" as his name . The couple look at each other and wonder is this purely a coincidence that he has the same name of the guy who is in their house. They turn and at the porch way of their house standing under an old dimming light surrounded by fluttering fly's is Nick who look's back at them and say's " you wanted a spirit so you got one" Nick's eyes turn red and start's to fade to transparency only to disappear. The terrified couple clench each other, jump in their car and speed off down the lonely back road never returning to that house again.

Nick Jones was a spirit all along, he died that night in a car crash and was summoned by the couple mistakenly as they learned what's dead stay's dead and this should not be messed with.

Westerhaven

Westerhaven is on a small island which you accessed by a short ferry trip, formerly just an abandoned island inhabited by overgrown tree's and a graveyard which only buried the rich. The main attraction to the newly revamped island is The Westerhaven Hotel which is owned by Lord Braeden, the hotel offers great views of the surrounding river which at night can be overcome by a shallow fog coming in along with a colony of Bat's to add to that classic nature look.

Lord Braeden was heavily involved in the idea of making the island into what it is now. He was an elderly gentleman who didn't say much but when he spoke he did it in such a manner that made you listen. Always surrounded by his henchmen for lack of a better word, he dressed like he was still in the 1940's and had a casual swagger about him, he certainly lived up to his name.

Five floors which consisted of 15 room's on each one, but for the wealthy you could book The Vintage room or The Gothic room ( There were 4 of each available). These rooms were designed in a way to match their respective name's, filled with artistry and an relaxing atmosphere these rooms were an accurate representation of what the hotel stood for.

During a dinner banquet one evening, members of the Gothic and Vintage rooms were invited for a special celebration marking the first year anniversary of the hotel opening. It begun by a speech made by Lord Braeden thanking everyone for their efforts in the first year before announcing that the food will arrive shortly. After they ate they were brought out to an open room near the back of the hotel and the people learned the real reason to which this celebration took place.

The hotel staff started to gather around with their face's starting to mold, neck muscle's tightening and when they looked at you then you could see an extra two sharp long teeth drop down from their upper gums. People looked stunned as to what they were seeing, one of them was grabbed by Lord Braeden and cut on his forearm, this activated a drug like addiction response from the staff who tore into the open wound draining his body from all of blood. This was met by desperate screams of the hotel guests who tried to flee the scene but to no avail.

"We only need five of you, the rest will be either killed or drained of all blood and the five lucky one's will be turned" Lord Braeden announced this nonchalantly as if this was all just a bit of fun.
Little fight was put up by the guests as it was clear there was a huge strength difference, bodies lying all over the room with either their neck's snapped or lying pale on the ground as all the blood was drained from their bodies. There was only five standing as promised.

One by one they were brought up to Braeden who sunk his piranha like teeth into the necks of the innocent victims. Each one clearly making him stronger with his henchmen standing by getting almost excited like when the guests slowly turned into one of their own. When night was starting to turn to day the staff and turned guests morphed into Bat's and flew off into the fog while Lord Braeden wiped his mouth, walked back into the hotel climbing the stairs at a leisurely pace, amused by the nights events. He closed the door to his dark chamber like room and retired his killing until the following year.

This was the first time the slaughter happened by the Vampires of Westhaven.

The Raven

Rustling tree's
surrounded by silence,
the sun sets in the sky.
Darkness is falling,
sky's turning to black,
as something catches my eye

Squak says the raven,
as it sets down nearby,
it's eyes stare into my soul,
it's beak snaps shut
with wing span so vast
leaving me feeling so cold.

with a shuffle it moves,
as it sits next to me,
moving its head to glare.
My heart sinks and thuds,
from the images shown,
leaving me full of dread and despair.

Side Note; This was again done by Donna Gladman @F4ll3n4ng3l81, Thanks as always.

Headless Mule

The name used in it's native Brazil is Mula-Sem-Cabeca.

It is believed in the city of Manaus, a woman of degradation named Camilla who was short in stature with long black hair and alluring in her aura got involved in relations with a Catholic priest. Every Thursday they met up without the knowledge of anyone and this went on for a long time until one particular Thursday. On this day when the sun set Camilla's head turned to flame and her body took the form of a purple mule, this was said to be the action of God who was angered by these relations.

This frightened the priest who for the rest of his life did not get involved with any other women and kept this a secret until the day he died. Friday at sunrise she would return back to her human form until it got to Thursday at sunset to which she would always turn back into this headless mule.

If you pass this mule on your travels she would trample you to death in a matter of second's, although there are ways in which to break the curse. The first one is to remove the bridal crown which can be seen floating above her flames but this comes at a price as the person who does this will be forced to marry her. The other one is simply to stab her with a blessed sharp object.

When the curse is lifted she returns to her normal self but has a continuous tainted smell of sulfur off of her. She would live a normal long loving life with her husband until the day her husband passes and then she would return to the hideous purple mule until she is saved again. This last's forever as her punishment for being involved with a priest is eternal.

If you are out wandering around the jungle of Manaus between sunset on a Thursday and sunrise on a Friday morning then watch out for this beast or if you indeed come across a girl with a similar description be sure to stay away from her seducing enchantment.

Meet the Mason's.....again (part 2)

Mr. Mason returns home looking in a hurry, frantically searching for an item which he carries in his bag. He noticed that his wife wasn't home which helped his cause but he also was curios as to where she was, three call's gone to voicemail later he found what he wanted and took off from the house

The eerie creak of the back door being slowly opened paralleled that of the shock of Mrs. Mason's face as the few wrinkle's she had slowly evaporated and her face frozen with disbelief of what she was faced with. Two bodies, a man and a woman roughly in their late 20's, bludgeoned and cut from the torso. They were chained to the ground surrounded by candles and some kind of drawings/writing, the woman either dead or on the verge of it but the man was still conscious looking at Mrs. Mason and mumbling "ddddd......monic" while gargling blood as if it was a cure to a sore throat. Mrs. Mason goes with her instinct to unchain him but then stops, take's a moment to think then take's up a knife that was lying by the body of the woman and slashes the throat of the motionless body of the man. She stands holding the knife close to her chest muttering "I love him" repeatedly as a glare from a car's light beam's through the window.
Mr. Mason walks in looking confused wondering if he is actually seeing what he is looking at.
" What the hell did you do, how did you find me? Wait are you following me?" He asks looking disturbed.
Mrs. Masons emphatically responds" It's OK i understand, you're sick but i wont tell anyone that's why i decided to finish off the job for you, I love you".
"I needed them alive to finish off what i started, i wasn't just doing this for the fun of it there was a point to it, anyway we need to dispose of the bodies and all the evidence quick before people come in the morning"

Present day,

As the weeks/months went by this became a regular pastime of the Mason's, to offer up a newlywed as part of some sick satanic ritual which read "Bless the house of the joyous through blood shed and in return I give my blessing to your home". These ritual's began getting more calculated over time to the point they had almost perfected them, but as the need to sacrifice grew the offerings started to become a big boring or stale with the monotonous routine not feeding their thrill anymore. It was then one Sunday evening that Mr. and Mrs. Mason sat down looking for ways in which they could bring that excitement back into their sacrifices. Horrid ideas were being passed around but none seemed to give them that feeling that they desperately seeked until Mrs. Mason's water broke which was met by a huge grin from both the Mason's.............

Stranger

Through fog and shadows,
beneath the street light,
amidst the noise and haste
There travel's a man,
with a large black hat,
yet no one has seen his face.

He carries a bag with him,
wherever he goes,
and a cane to help him walk.
Both hand's gloved,
coat trailing behind him,
and no one has heard him talk.

There is one more thing,
I didn't explain,
and I've heard this is quite true.
Don't look him in the eye,
as he passes you by,
or one day he will come for you.

Side Note; This amazing poem was sent to me by the amazing Donna Gladman who you can find on twitter @F4LL3n4ng3l81, give her an idea and she brings it to life.

Replay

Seven-year-old Toby raced his replica cars on the mat by the fireplace in the living room as his parents, Jason and Jacinta, watched the T.V. one Thursday night. One car was blue and one was red. Their house was long and had an open plan. The living room followed directly through to the kitchen, followed by a narrow square hall that led to the bathroom. If the doors of each from were left open you could see from one end of the house to the other.
On this night, the doors were all open and the only lights on were in the living. Toby's parents were nodding off in the sofa as a documentary about the Galapagos Islands reached its second ad break. As Toby raced the two cars around the circuit he imagined on the purple border of the carpet he found himself facing the line of open doors which led his eye line to the bathroom.
The kitchen was poorly lit by the living room lamps, while the hall and bathroom were almost black. Toby looked on as a 6ft middle-aged man looked at bathroom mirror, shaving his face. The seven-year-old looked up to the sofa to alert his parents of the spooky presence, but they were asleep. When he looked back he now faced eye to eye with the intruder. He had stopped shaving and bend his body forward towards Toby, gesturing him to come closer. Toby screamed out to his sleeping parents, but as he did the floor acted like a conveyor belt, sending him to the spooky man.
Toby tried to claw his way back to safety but he didn't have a chance. The man waited for his prey to arrive and in excitement began to draw blood from his own arms, stomach and forehead with the razor he had been shaving with. The blood served to grease the bathroom floor tiles so Toby couldn’t escape easily.
As a last resort Toby shut his eyes. The man shaded in black disappeared as quickly as he entered the world, as did the whole scenario. Toby awoke from his nightmare in his second-floor bedroom. Tired, yet relieved. He was used to experiencing bad dreams from time to time but this one was so clear, so vivid that it made Toby check to see if his parents were well and good.
He popped his head into the master bedroom and saw his mother sleeping. "Dad must be downstairs already", he thought to himself. Toby wasn't going to be content until he saw everyone safe with his own eyes and so rushed down the stairs. As he turned the corner to make a start on the long house in search his father, he saw a middle-aged intruder slashing a knife across Jason's head, arms and stomach as they struggled to gain the upper hand in a scuffle in the bathroom. Just as his father dropped to the bathroom floor with the blood already spilled across the tiles, Toby's eyes locked on with the same middle-aged man from his nightmare. He turned to run, but slipped on the carpet where the toy cars sat parked, tired from racing the night before.
The spooky man stood still as Toby regained his footing and made for the staircase to save his mother. As he did so, a second intruder just as real as the first, grabbed Toby and walked him to the bathroom. The pair proceeded to lock the father and son inside before eagerly grabbing whatever valuables they could. Toby was left in the bathroom with his dad who took the heavy breaths of a sprinter, while lying otherwise motionless on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor. His son lay in his arms and clenched his eyes shut, trying to replay last night’s horror, which felt like a dream to him now.

Side note; Replay is Gerard’s latest tail

Meet the Mason's (part 1)

"Family is supposed to be our safe haven. Very often, it's the place where we find the deepest heartache." Iyanla Vanzant.

Mr Mason,a real estate agent and his wife Mrs. Mason a former small cake shop owner and now new to the unemployed scene and also the maternal one as she carries their first child. They have been living in a quiet neighborhood for close to four years now, an upper class rural area surrounded by beautiful greenery and where it always seemed like the sun shines. The only disturbance would be the daily melody of the ice cream man casually drifting through the suburb to be met by a horde of smiling children. Family car's were as common as the sound of another bottle of wine being opened to dump your problems in, just your typical suburban housing estate.

6 months ago,

Mr.Mason just got a job promotion which entailed showing newlyweds properties and also spending time with them introducing them to the area, like a local tour guide. Every family was met with a gleeful smile and then shown around exactly as it said on the leaflet, Mr. Mason would then return home hours later crack open a beer and eventually slumber up to bed as quietly as possible.
"Another late one" Mrs Mason groans as she stirs in the bed rubbing her pregnant stomach, Mr.Mason hesitantly responds "You know how it is, since I got this promotion it's more hours and it's just temporary until the baby arrives".
This was the pattern that ensued nightly over the coming weeks.
As the week's went by Mrs Mason became suspicious about her husband as the time he arrived home was getting later and later and he always carried a small luggage bag when he set off in the morning. She had an idea, her friend from college had a younger sister who just newly got married and she suggested that they move to her area as it was a nice and quiet and also ideal to start a family. The arrangements were made and over one summer's day Mr Mason gave the newlywed's the tour of the area and properties as advertised.

2 weeks later,

Mrs Mason received a call from her college friend. "Has my sister been in touch with you by any chance recently"
"No....why do you ask" Mrs Mason replies looking confused.
"I just haven't heard from her since she moved up close to you, I text and rang but got no answer, I mean at first i thought it was just she was busy with moving in but its been 2 weeks now"
" I gotta go i'll call you back" she slams down the phone, her mind racing wondering what happened when her husband met with her friend's sister and if everything did indeed go "smoothly" as she was told.
The next morning when Mr.Mason set out for work Mrs Mason decided to follow him, nothing seemed out of the ordinary as she lurked in the distance as if stalking her prey. House by house went by and she thought that maybe it's just paranoia due to some kind of pregnant hormonal reaction, until the last house as Mr Mason spent particularly long inside and left alone. Mrs Mason decided to enter the house when he left  only to be stunned by the shock horror that she saw......to be continued!!!!!!

Forgery in Finchley Town

The first bank to open its doors in the town of Finchley was Brook’s Savings and loans bank in 1799. Established by Reece Brooks owned a merchant business, the business thrived in the economic uptake seen in the early 19th century. A few years later BS&LB founded two branches in Watershed and a forth branch all the way over in Shannon on the site of St. Canice's Cathedral.

In the aftermath of the Napoleonic Wars in however the modest fortune amassed by BS&LB was no match for the nationwide collapse of the delicate economy. The BS&LB branch in Shannon was forced to closed its doors on May 19th of that year and the other branches were on the brink of collapse. Back in Finchley, Reese Brooks was battling tuberculosis throughout the month. His condition worsening in parallel with the economy. A doctor by the name of Tim Wallace was sent out to conduct a weekly check-up. The Brooks household was on the outskirts of Finchley and took at least an hour to get to from the BS&LB on horseback. After one of the weekly check-ups, Dr. Wallace is said to have arrived at the bank in under 40 minutes. Perhaps a jockey in a past life. He handed in a note with a signature that read "Reece Brooks". The note read that Brooks wanted Wallace to withdraw a large sum of money from his account on his behalf. The tellers trusted the well-respected doctor and never once doubted Wallace' intentions. As he parted the cash with the bank he informed a teller that Reese Brooks had been pronounced dead within the last hour. The bank spun into chaos as Dr. Wallace briskly made it out to his horse. The medical report stated that Mr. Brooks had died due to complications relating to tuberculosis.

With the passing of BS&LB's founder, its headquarters closed down, promptly followed by its remaining branches in Watershed. Dr Wallace had made out with his money and while his riding skills were top notch, speculation was quick to catch up with the doctor. He stopped practising medicine in the autumn and by December was put on trial for the murder of Reese Brooks. The court heard from another Finchley Doctor by the name of Bill Weir, that he had visited the deceased's wake that May and noticed some irregularities about the corpse. There seemed to be some marks around his neck.

Curiosity led to suspicion which led to him conferring with a Doctor from St. Mary's Hospital who humoured Dr. Weir by examining the body two days later at the funeral. With as much respect as one could show, he inspected the neck of Reese Brooks as he lay in his open casket. The doctor confirmed with his fellow practitioner that the deceased had suffered from strangulation and not from complications relating to his illness as Wallace had stated.

The two doctors gave evidence to the court that December and Tim Wallace, now stripped of his medical license was sentenced to death by hanging for the murder of Reese Brooks. He would likely have been exiled to Australia for the lesser crime of forgery. Tim Wallace died of a heart attack in prison at the age of 69 in 1847, awaiting execution.

Brook’s Savings & Loans Bank remained buried with its founder. Tim Wallace was survived by his only son Albert, who disappeared with his father’s savings shortly after the sentence was handed down. Nothing is known of Albert Wallace in the history books. He likely changed his name once he skipped town.

Side Note; This is another piece written by Gerard Gilroy aka Gilly Ghouly who will be joining Twitter shortly.

The Old Prison

Every night since he moved into his new apartment he was awoken at about 4am by a quick series of heavy footsteps from the stairwell that lead to the exit. They seemed to start from the floor above and finish at the ground floor. Leo Frissel had recently graduated from Dr. Harby Flight School. And while he already had begun working for Zanussi Airlines, like a lot of recent graduates, he was just beginning to chip away at his student loans. Although Leo had always wanted to become a pilot, his occupation didn’t go well with the touch of claustrophobia he suffered from. Even though the pay was good, being in debt meant he had to find the cheapest apartment in the vicinity of the airport he was stationed at. His search led him to The Old Prison apartments. A former prison from the 60s that had fallen into disrepair. A miserly developer bought it in the 80s and saved money by salvaging the existing building while converting the interior into apartments. Leo was sure his room had a past life as a solitary confinement cell. He could stand with his arms outstretched and touch the walls on two sides of the room. Whatever its function and size, it was cheap and within walking distance of McGarry Airport, cutting time and money off his commute.

While at cursing altitude and surrounded by blue skies, Leo would ponder over the cause of these midnight footsteps. Being the novice co-pilot he was, he dared not to appear odd his fellow co-pilot, so he would reveal his thoughts and theories to the flight attendants prior to take-off and while embarking and disembarking from the plane. Everyone shot down his long winded, complex explanations that had gotten into his head which made him consider keeping his imaginative ideas to himself. That was until his plane landed in Holloway shortly before Christmas, when Leo was two months in the job.

A passenger disembarking the plane overheard a long-winded story Leo was forcing upon a flight attendant, Sherry. The disinterested flight attendant had been on the same flight crew with Leo 14 times by now and had heard 14 new chapters to what had now become a very plain, repetitive mystery novel. The passenger, an elderly gaunt man from McGarry was smiling to the flight attendants as he walked to the stairs to exit the plane when he halted abruptly. His left hand dropped his walking stick and his other hand grabbed the railing at the foot of the steps. He turned his head clockwise and shot a gaze with his owl-eyes at the chatty pilot who had seen the passengers stick falling and dropped his voice. Leo was about to finish his sentence to the inattentive flight attendant when he was muted by the old man’s stare.

The old man pushed passed the other disembarking passengers and waded his way across the plane to a now frozen Leo. "Repeat that". Leo would have remained frozen had Sherry not laughed out of confusion over this bizarre situation. As she did Leo reverted to generic smiling pilot, "Thank you, have a nice..." The man with the beams for eyes kept his stare locked on Leo and said, "Who told you about the prison?"

"I live there" a puzzled, yet thawed out Leo replied. Sherry waved her hand between the two once all other customers had disembarked. "Sir, would you like me to fetch your walking stick for you?"

"I lived there too young fella", the old man replied.

Sherry waited for a response. The old man seemed less intimidating now and his almost hypnotic stare weakened.

"Sherry,” Leo said, “This is a friend of mine. We’re ok here.”

Sherry is confused by equally disinterested in the situation. She goes ahead with her duties.
"My name is Leo."
"Stewart Walker-Pierce."
"Sir, I have a lot of questions for you but you've already answered one... So, you were in The Old Prison…Do you have another flight to catch?

“Yes.”

“How long is your layover?”

“Long enough to tell you about the footsteps.”

A look of fear washed over Leo. It was as if this man was inside his mind. He felt like the victim of a professional burglary. The alarm disarmed. Nothing out of place. The family sleeping. Valuables stolen and the victim is only aware long after the act. Once Leo had composed himself, the two agreed to discuss the footsteps. They found Stewart's boarding gate and sat in a corner overlooking the runway.

“Before we go into this… who else have you told?”

“Just some of the flight attendants. I’ve been meaning to tell some friends but it sounds crazy. “

“And did they all respond like that woman?”
“Sherry? Yeah. I’m not a very good story teller.”

“Good. look there’s something about the prison that I need to tell you.” Stewart took a deep breath. “What’s your room like? Is it cramped, near a stairwell?” — “Final boarding call for flight ZA119”, was announced over the Tannoy system. Stewart finally revealed some emotion on his face. It was either a look of anger or fear.

“I told them this would happen…I told them”
“Whats wrong? What’s going on? how do you know? Am I in danger?”

“You’re already in danger young man. Me and some of the other officers and inmates warned the developers of this. We tried to fight the renovation at every turn. They ignored us and ploughed on during the boom times and now people are in danger.”

“Thank you for warning me but this is very confusing. Are there criminals hiding out in the vacant room or is the structure unsafe? Have inmates returned there to live? Who is keeping me up at night Stewart?” Leo felling frantic, forgot to breath and choked a little and looked stunned.

“She cursed us but we didn’t listen, we didn’t care. But as some inmates were sent to solitary confinement. That’s when she had her revenge. Now it’s your turn.” --- “Last and final call for flight ZA119. Could Stewart Walker-Pierce please come to boarding gate 23 for flight ZA119 to Blackchester.” The announcement over the Tannoy woke Stewart from the trance he had slipped into. Leo remained stunned.

“I have a flight to catch Leo. All I have to say is get out now son. Maybe it’s too late, but you might still have a chance to escape the suffering those men endured at the hands of her ghost. I’m sorry.”

Stewart rose to his feet gingerly and shook Leo’s hand like you do at a funeral. The old man picked up his walking stick and hobbled briskly towards the departure gate and onto the plane. Leo had so many answers and so many questions that he sat in the terminal stone silent among the hectic airport announcements and rushing travellers. It was only as he stood up that he realised Stewart had handed him a clipping from a newspaper, small enough to fit into a wallet. It read, “Teen singer murdered in prison”. Much of the article was too worn to make out. When he turned it over, “Officer S.W. Pierce” was written beside a partially legible quote, “I… let her out of…sight”. Leos blood ran cold. On autopilot, he staggered through the crowded airport, bumping into suitcases and travellers until finding a seat in the pilot’s lounge that faced a wall. His mind in the clouds and a storm was coming.
Once Leo made his return flight to McGarry he slowly walked to The Old Prison apartments on a dreary autumn afternoon, the former prison somehow looked even more forlorn than the sky above. At the foot of the stairs that seemed to be the origin of his worries, he stopped momentarily, running over Stewarts warning. He weighed up his options; He was over a hundred kilometres from home, in debt, had no friends at Zanussi he felt comfortable enough with yet, that could offer him a bed for the night and had a shift in a few days. In his mind, he had no choice but to climb those stairs and he did so for the last time that night.

Leo Frissell lay in bed for an hour. The fear kept him awake, yet all the worry made him tired and he drifted off to sleep until 2am. His body was found hanging from the single lighting fixture in front of the lone window in his room. His death was ruled as suicide. His co-workers revealed to the police that he had been complaining of night terrors attributed to depression likely brought on by work related stress. His parents admitted that he had become distant since moving to McGarry and although they
asked him to visit at their expense, he never took up their offer.

What the coroner’s and police's report failed to mention was that a series of unfortunate events brought Leo to an early grave. In the years prior to its use as an apartment block, The Old Prison
hosted an annual party on the 21^st of October, the first day of winter, to liven up the spirits of its inmates and to curb the rate of suicide between its walls. The party consisted of music and dancing and tasty food. The main course of the event would be short performances from some local musicians who volunteered their time. 1960 saw the final year of the party and the opening act was a brave young girl of 17 named Scarlett Goulding. Scarlett stood up in front of the lively, and at this point, sober audience. She strummed her guitar, sung a few country ballads and stepped down from the stage after three songs. At the behest of the warden it was suggested that she leave immediately following the performance, but she decided to stick around for the remaining singers. Although under the protection of an armed guard, a small fight broke out between two inmates at the interval and his attention was drawn to the scuffle. Scarlett’s eyes were drawn to the fight too.

A hand reached for her mouth to cover her screams and two more hands grabbed a hold of Scarlett’s body. She was rushed into a dark stairwell by two sober, cunning, cruel inmates. She managed to slip from their control momentarily, racing down the stairs for fourteen steps before the men caught up with her. The overzealous inmates demanded she stop screaming. When she failed to obey their orders, they twisted her neck. The two inmates responsible evaded detection and made it back to the party just as the prison guards found Scarlett’s lifeless corpse lying on the stairwell. She was rushed to the local infirmary, but was pronounced dead upon arrival.

The town of McGarry was appalled at these crimes. Following failed attempts at finding the inmates responsible for Scarlett Goulding’s rape and murder, the prison who felt the eyes of the town on them, sent a series of prisoners into solitary confinement to use as scapegoats to quell the fury of the public. Those responsible for her death remain unknown to all but the perpetrators and the victim, and may never have been sent to solitary confinement themselves. On the one-year anniversary of Scarlett’s death the three inmates held in each of the cells used for solitary confinement all committed suicide. This occurred every year until The Old Prison closed down in 1965 and against the warning of the former occupants was renovated into apartments in 1991. Leo Frissell was pronounced dead on 21st October 2007. The Old Prison apartments are still standing in the town of McGarry today.

Side Note; This was a short story sent to me by Gerard Gilroy, a friend of mine who is also a fan of telling sinister tales. Hopefully he will add further contributions in the future.

 

The Dead Wander

In the City of Brimford a group of explorers from the cities National History Museum were given a task, to travel to the deepest depths of the Arabian Desert in search for century old lost artefacts that were lost during a battle between the rulers of East and West, which was won by The East.

There's an old legend that seemed tied to this part of the desert, it is said that people who have died here during the great war roam these parts in search for vengeance. As with all legends there was no proof of this with many calling it nothing more than the work of idle minds but then others swear by it and claim to have witnessed these dead soldiers. It is said to cause insanity to those who witness it with repeated whispers of "The Dead Wander".

Upon reaching the destination the explorers were split into groups to speed up the search, the desert can be a harsh terrain so the less time spent out there the better.  Caleb an egotistical individual was a member of group x-4, the group who went the furthest. During the search they were hit by a sandstorm which separated many of the group, Caleb found himself alone realising he has lost his companions and all that was around him was the view of endless desert.

Hours pass and day turns into night, he meanders through the scorching heat for hours losing a little ray of hope with every drawn out step he takes and dehydration slowly setting in. Eventually, he passes out only to wake to find the light of the sun blindingly in his eyes reflecting off what looked like an old ancient ruins dating back centuries judging by the writing on the walls and in particular this one wall. Caleb studied Arabic and knew what this meant "Dead Wander" he had heard about the legend of the dead roaming this part of the desert before but never thought more of it.

He reached a sort of old kitchen area where he splashed water on his face while looking in this cracked old mirror wondering how this has happened. As he prepares to walk away he hears whispers but couldn't make out what it was, the whispers grew faster, louder and closer as if someone was whispering directly in his ear. He turns and goes to run out knocking over old ornaments in his disoriented state, he reaches the exit where he is greeted by what can only be described as some kind of hideous looking creature in the shape of a man a little smaller than himself but clearly a man in build.

He turned and noticed three more surrounding him on all exits, they had this foul stench and a strange looking wet saggy face with their mouths able to open as far as they pleased. They edge closer to Caleb whispering as they close in, their arms reaching out to him and mouths opening as if they were preparing a morning yawn. Caleb's eyes begin to close resembling him nodding off to sleep until slowly it fades to black .

"Caleb,Caleb are you there" he starts to come around and upon opening his eyes he see's the other members of his group who explain to him that they got separated during the sandstorm and found him lying unconscious not far from where the storm hit. He starts to mumble "The Dead Wander" repeatedly with the others visibly concerned and confused they prepare for their exit.

No one knows what exactly happened to Caleb, who is now institusionalised, many think the dehydration and time spent alone caused him to hallucinate and drive him insane but others believe his insanity was a cause of the old legend coming to fruition and indeed deep in the Arabic Desert the Dead Does Wander.

Vorigan and Fang

Everyone knows the story about Cerberus the large three headed dog that guards the gates of the underworld to prevent the dead from leaving or Anubis the Ancient Greek God with a dog's head, but little is known about these hideous hounds Vorigan and Fang. These two are similar in look to the Black Norwegian Elkhound but more relatable in terms of size to that of a horse. They roam the landscape of all Nordic countries reigning terror upon people and any animals they pass, they kill for the fun and truly are man's worst nightmare.

The first sighting of these two came in a little village high upon the snowy plains of Norway, this village was known for its hunter-gatherer style of living which was adopted by the men of the village with fishing and hunting popular activities to gain their feed. The village comprised of about 200 people with a clear social status as the ruling which consisted in order of chronological age with respect being the underlining theme running through the village.

The village animals would often go missing or end up being killed that was just the lay of the land; survival of the fittest, and this was just how it was but no one could have foreseen the events that unfolded over one winters morning. As the villagers began to rise to a frosty breathe of air there was noticeably people missing and the hunting team had not arrived back from the previous nights hunt, people began to worry and search parties were gathered and ready to move out until one of the elders noticed something, four red eyes peering at him from villages bush's end.

A scream of "dog attack" was let out by the panicky villagers which was met by the two hounds galloping ferociously towards the people.Saliva drooling from their mouths and barks loud enough to wake the dead, they leaped at whoever they saw in their path tearing through human flesh as if it was an excited kid at Christmas opening his long anticipated presents. The few men that were left threw everything they had at them, spears and knives seemed to merely excite these demons as they smugly devoured anyone that tried to wound them. Men,women, children or animals these two didn't discriminate.

In a matter of minutes a village that was preserved for a lifetime was brutally torn apart, bodies lying everywhere it was a massacre. Vorigan and Fang went off into the distance satisfied with what they had done only presumably setting their sights on their next victims.

Somebody's Knocking On The Door

As you walk up a small hill there's a house which is numbered 17, a brown door with an old knocker bigger than most men's fists. It seemed too big to fit proportionally with the other houses on the street but many thought this was what gave the house such allure. Every morning you pass and see one wet torn newspaper and two knocked over milk bottles. "Summer seems to avoid this house and winter seems to love it, summer seems to avoid this house and winter seems to love it, summer seems to avoid this house and winter seems to love it", this was what the kids who grew up here used to sing about this house as if it was some kind of cheerful nursery rhyme, always in rounds of three which gave a certain eerie ring to it.

A man lived here, an average sized man with long straight greasy dark hair who wore always this brown coat. He was only ever seen to leave once a week on a Sunday to visit the local supermarket and then return home. A slow paced walk as if he didn't want to reach his destination was his walk of choice, he never cared much for the greetings of passers by and didn't have any friends except a few crows that used to peck at holes on the shoulder of his jacket, but he always stopped when he heard the kids sing that song and didn't leave until he heard it 3 times.

Around March every year there was a pattern emerging, someone would go missing. The man was always the first one whom people wanted answers from but he never answered his door, people would do everything they could to get answers but to no avail, plus there was no hard evidence that it was him who took these people, only the frightening mystique that he would give off. As the years went by people still went missing and no one knew where they went or how they were taken, this mystery in fact still remains the case to this day.

Over the years it is said that if you knocked on the man's door three times on the 17/3 then this is how you would get him to answer but if he answered you will never be seen again. What exactly happened to you is unknown but since the man has passed away people have stopped disappearing, inside the house there's no evidence of any bodies just a musky smell that choked you as soon as you enter. In the garden all that was there was a few dead plants and a long stretch of grass, but there was a strange fascination that crows had with the garden ; sort of an over protective reaction....................

My Style

There are no set ways that my posts will be delivered, the length and development of each story will be completely unique to my way of thinking.Some will be long others will be short, a few lines in some cases but you may ask why only a few lines and the answer is as long as i get the point i want to get across to you then the length should not matter, and of course some will be left open to interpretation as this is called folklore of the "mind" and a big part of why i am doing this is to get myself and others to use their minds when reading my posts or indeed when coming up with ideas of their own.

Of course there will be some dark stories but there will also be some more lighthearted, fun posts which is important for my sanity if not anything else when writing so many blood-curdling and fearsome scenarios. Don't worry if you see the words "lighthearted" and "fun" this is after all intended to scare people but with a little tint of comic relief to satisfy all.

As a newcomer to all of this please be patient as i get used to this new world and always send me feedback or any ideas you have yourself either as a comment under a post or by email at folkloreofthemind@gmail.com. Oh and tell all your spooky loving friends to follow me on twitter @mindfolklore. That's it for a quick introduction on what to expect, hope you sinisterly enjoy what you read, thank you for reading.